


Impulse

by winterkill



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Background Yuri/Estelle, Emotional Constipation, F/M, Some one-sided Rita/Estelle, The feelings come later, There's no fics for these two and it's a damn shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 15:01:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15643158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterkill/pseuds/winterkill
Summary: It's just an impulse, nothing serious, or at least that's what Rita keeps telling herself. Rita/Raven, rated M for some non-descriptive sexual content.





	Impulse

**Author's Note:**

> There is literally NOTHING on this site for this pairing! So, here's a small offering if there's any other Rita/Raven shippers out there.

Estelle looks radiant in her wedding gown, and Yuri looks so besotted that Rita wants to slug him and barf into a potted plant. The ceremony is as trimmed down as possible when two people that famous are getting married. There are still two hundred people in the throne room, and Rita would rather redo Zaphias’ heated plumbing from scratch than imagine the catering for the reception.

When Yuri slides the ring on Estelle's finger and leans in to kiss her, Rita feels a pang of jealousy. Her feelings for Estelle are old, like an injury fading with each passing year. She likens it to an atmospheric pressure change, a knee that aches when it rains.

The two idiots finally getting married definitely counts as rain, though.

Estelle's eyes flutter open after Yuri pulls away, and they smile at one another. Rita’s heart hurts in a way she doesn't know how it deal with; it's not a problem she can attack in her lab--exactly the type of problem she is fond of burying. She is happy for Estelle, even though Estelle would never look at her like she looked at Yuri.

***

The rest of Brave Vesperia are the first people Estelle and Yuri greet when they enter the reception hall. Estelle’s gloved hands grasp Rita’s tightly, and she pulls the younger woman into a tight hug.

“Thank you so much for coming.”

“Of course I'd be here to watch you fools get married,” she replies into the shoulder of Estelle's dress, pink hair tickling her cheek. Rita doesn't stiffen in the embrace like she might have years ago; instead, she squeezes Estelle in return.

Rita greets Yuri next, “Take good care of each other.”

Yuri’s response is a smile that quirks up one side of his mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

_***_

Raven is uncomfortable at parties but a decade a living a double-life made him skilled at hiding it. How many dozens of formal events had Alexei forced him attend, pulling the strings like he was a marionette? Some people he is genuinely happy to see, others not so much. He moves systemically through all the people that need greeted--Ioder, important nobles and people of the various guilds, and finally his friends.

The fact that he even _has_ friends still gets him sometimes.

“Thank you for coming,” Estelle hugs him, slender arms warm around his torso.

When Yuri grips his hand in a firm handshake, Raven looks at them both and winks, “Take it from an old fogey, the after party will be better.”

Estelle and Yuri both blush.

Eventually, his discomfort causes him to retreat to a wall near a refreshment table as soon as it seems appropriate to do so. He lifts a champagne flute off the table--not his poison of choice, but it would do; at least it was top-shelf.

Estelle and Yuri's first dance is over and pairs have formed for the second dance when he spots Rita, who seems to be playing the-floor-is-lava with the dance floor. Raven sees, but doesn't hear, Rita reject a mid-tier Zaphias noble who asks her to dance. Raven takes it as a sign of her maturity that she doesn't set the fool on fire. Instead, she stalks across the edge of the room to the tower of champagne flutes and swipes one off the top tier.

“Rita, darlin’.”

“Old man.”

He elevates his champagne flute and glances in Rita's direction. “You look like you’re havin’ a great time.”

Rita glares but settles near him against the wall. “It's the first dance, and I had to turn down three idiots. There's _hours_ left.”

Her reputation for refusing dances is legendary at this point; yet every occasion, men would ask and risk getting scorched.

“Well, darlin’, you’re the famous genius mage and easy on the eyes, too.”

A blush sweeps over Rita's cheeks at the compliment, and she turns her head, green eyes glaring at Raven straight on. “Shut it, old man.”

Raven takes a sip of champagne to hide his grin. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Rita fidget with the sleeves of her wine-colored dress. Her shoulders are bare and the sleeves are only attached to the bodice under her arms. It's obvious why she gets asked to dance so frequently.

“Have ya _ever_ said 'yes’ to any of these poor bastards?”

“Nope.”

The curtness of her reply makes Raven laugh. Rita glares even harder.

“Not lookin’ for romance?”

Rita scoffs, “Definitely not with these fools.”

“Ah, maybe a lady, then?”

She pushes herself off the wall at that remark. Teasing Rita is as easy as breathing, but this seems to have struck a chord. Rita's hand that isn't holding her champagne balls into a fist at her side.

_Hmmmm._

The orchestra pauses between songs, and people shuffle off the dance floor, changing partners and getting refreshments. The commotion breaks their conversation, and Raven has a profoundly stupid idea. “We could dance, if ya want to.” He shrugs as he speaks, downing the last bit of champagne in his glass. The way Rita's eyes widen at the suggestion is gratifying, if only because she's usually so quick with a scathing reply.

“I _never_ want to dance,” Rita finally replies, but she drops her empty glass onto the table and takes Raven’s proffered hand, “but it's Estelle's day and if dancing with you will stop me from being asked.”

“I’m good, darlin’, you’ll see.”

Rita rolls her eyes, but allows Raven to guide her to the dance floor as the orchestra starts up.

***

They dance for three songs before Raven starts to wonder how the palace rumor mill will digest and spit this out--both of them are notorious figures by this point. Rita is not a great dancer, but she concentrates hard on matching his steps and spends half the time, brow creased, staring down at her feet. The steps are simple enough that Raven has a chance to focus on Rita in his arms. One hand grasps at his jacket collar, occasionally brushing against his hair, tied low at the base of his neck for the formal occasion. She’s grown a bit over the past few years, but Raven could still rest his chin on her head if he dared. He keeps his hand still on her waist; Rita may have said yes to dancing but full immolation is always a possibility. Her grip on his other hand is firm, calloused fingers digging into his own.

The two of them are definitely getting a few gawkers. In fact, Judith has a particularly notable expression that Raven catches as he twirls Rita. _That_ is a conversation he doesn't want to have. _Ever_.

When the orchestra announces a real intermission, he expects Rita to pull away once they separate, but she keeps her fingers wrapped around his until they move off the dance floor. Another champagne flute finds his way into Raven's hand before let's out a heavy sigh and leans against the wall.

“Tired, old man?”

“Ya try dancin’ with a lady who has a reputation for setting suitors coattails on fire.”

Fifteen-year-old Rita would have slugged him for that comment. Nineteen-year-old Rita laughs and sips more champagne.

Raven lets a few moments of silence lapse before speaking again, “So, who’s drawin’ more attention?”

“I am. Not that I care.”

“Genius mage finally dances and it’s with _me_ of all people--an old man, once-dead, and a turncoat to boot.”

Rita finishes her champagne and looks like she’s contemplating getting another. “You’re not so bad for a geezer. Best I've danced with.”

It’s almost a compliment coming from Rita, who doles out praise, well...never. Especially considering her self-professed lack of a frame of reference.

“Well, don't stroke my ego too much, darlin’, my head needs to fit through the palace doors.”

When did their conversation turn so _flirty?_

 _I’m an old man._ Raven studies his hands for a moment, bravado faltering as it usually did when he got too introspective. He’d meant his earlier comments in jest, but something about them hit. Alexei telling him to _stop moping_ and _be grateful_ _you’re alive_ repeat through his head. He doesn't want Rita to notice but when he looks back up, she already has. What she lacks in tact she makes up for in astuteness. She's facing him, stepping closer until her skirt brushes against his legs.

“Raven?”

Not “old man”, but his name--the one he chosen for himself.

Rita's eyes narrow as she looks up at him--her unguarded concern makes her gaze hard to meet.

“You okay?”

He tries to muster a nonchalant response, to de-escalate whatever tension his soured mood created. Even the flirting from two minutes ago would be preferable. The attempt dies when Rita's hand comes up to his chest, fingertips landing over the blastia in this chest. If Raven had a heartbeat, it would definitely accelerate. Instead, the blastia’s faint whir increases. He’s sure Rita notices--no one has interacted with the blastia more than her, except himself and maybe Alexei. Her hand flattens, palm against the blastia, and it seems physically impossible not to look back at her.

***

Rita’s knows she has an impulsive steak, prone to speaking her mind, consequences be damned. Her hand on Raven’s chest is just another impulse, and Rita tries, fails, to calculate the outcome. Another unintended variable; she deals with these all day. The calculation grinds to a halt when her other hand reaches out, touching Raven’s face. His normal stubble is absent.

 “I--,” for as far as the impulse carried her, Rita has no idea what she's doing. Her hand freezes.

“The champagne?” Raven tries, and Rita admires the attempt at a return to normalcy.

“No, it’s not that, it's…” she trails off but doesn't look away. Raven’s hands reach up to cup her elbows. “...An impulse?”

The question at the end of her sentence carries the weight of an entire word. Raven’s perplexed expression is the last thing Rita sees before shutting her eyes and kissing him.

Raven doesn't react, hands still on her elbows. She pulls back enough to see that he’s dumbstruck. “Don’t look like I slapped you!”

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time."

Rita scoffs.

Experiments are successful if they can be repeated under the same parameters. A true scientist, Rita presses their lips together again, firmer, and is gratified when Raven’s grips tightens. The music starts again, and the urge to leave overcomes Rita; she's not sure where she wants to go, but she wants out.

“This--we should go. It's been long enough, no one will notice.”

Or, nobody will notice _more_ than they already have.

Raven doesn't respond, but he doesn't disagree when Rita pulls him to the door.

*** 

The path back to Rita's room is long, but the corridors are empty; most of the castle staff recruited for the wedding. The two of them walk in silence until they reach her door. It's not the first time she’s brought someone back to her room, but it's definitely the most surreal. She feels floaty from the champagne, just enough to make her act on the impulse but not enough to set aside logic entirely. Elements of this have _bad idea_ written all over them.

And yet, here she goes.

Raven’s entire posture screams _tension_ as she closes the door. He stands on the rug, as far away from any furniture as possible, hands stuffed in his pockets. The old wound left by her feelings for Estelle flares up, a gnawing loneliness that twists the pit of her stomach and crawls up her throat. Rita wants to explain herself, to try and rationalize this completely irrational situation. Watching Estelle and Yuri get created a melange of conflicting emotions. However illogical, she can't suppress the nagging feeling that just _maybe_ if she'd been braver, or maturer, years ago, there might have been a _chance_. It's conjecture and hypothetical--things she hates.

She's frustrated and spiraling when Raven finally does speak, “Rita?” His voice breaks through Rita's thoughts, and she crosses the few steps between them.

“I don't know what I'm doing.” The statement doesn't begin to parse the layers of her thoughts, but it's not a lie. She feels Raven’s hands fall on her shoulders as he keeps her at arm's length.

“Well, unless I got my signals crossed, there’s only a few reasons a lady kisses a man and drags him back to her room.” His tone is flirty again, but like his hands on her shoulders, it's a defense mechanism to keep Rita away.

The sentiment actually pisses her off a bit and clears the fog from her mind.

“That-that’s not what I _mean,_ you idiot!” She's mad, flustered enough to have trouble continuing. Her fingers curl into a fist and she can feel the force of a punch running down her arm.

Rita wants to scream a million things all at once.

_I’m lonely. I want you to know but I can't admit it._

_I should have told her. It would have come to nothing, but she would have known. It's too selfish to do it now._

_Is it weird to regret something that was probably impossible in the first place?_

_You look lonely, too._

***

Raven regrets his flirting tactic almost as soon as the words leave his mouth. He's trying to put space between them--physical, mental, whichever. Rita is playing an emotional pingpong match with herself, and he needs a minute to catch up. She’s mad now, though, eyes narrowed and fists clenched. Even a three-champagne-deep punch from her would hurt. He could leave, drop his hands from her shoulders and walk out the door. It would be the smarter choice. Rita was young, not a child, but young. Raven wants to question her, to tell her what a bad idea this is, which would definitely earn him a fist in his face.

Should _he_ know better, though?

Granted, how much of the last ten years had he spent making good choices? Or even making decisions of his own at all?

Raven slides his hands up Rita’s shoulders, fingers resting just above the neckline of her dress. Her skin is warm, and he finds himself overcome with an impulse of his own. “Do you need me to stay?”

“Please,” Rita’s voice is quiet, and Raven’s eyes widen when she speaks. He’s about to ask if she’s teasing him but thinks better of it.

It still screams _bad idea,_ and he tries to keep from imagining the fallout.

“I’m an old man. People will _talk.”_

“Eh,” Rita shrugs like it's not a factor worth considering, and he wants to believe her.

“You know what you're asking?”

Rita just smiles.

Still, Raven waits for Rita to come to him. And she does, grabs his lapels and pulls him down until she can drag the tie out of his hair and kiss him.

***

Raven is alone when he wakes up in the morning. Blessedly, he doesn't have a hangover; however, it does mean he remembers last night with absolute clarity.

He and Rita had…

Raven buries his face in his hands and lets out a groan. Waking up alone in bed isn't strange, but it's not usually someone else's. Rita _would_ run away at first light from her own bedroom.

Getting up is step one--he’s unsure of the time, but the castle staff will be by eventually, and seeing Raven there will only add fuel to the rumor mill. He slips back into last night's clothes and is grateful to make it back to his own room unseen. He sits for a minute at the edge of his unused bed, the duvet still neatly turned back for his arrival. Sex with Rita was like doing anything with Rita: a fight. He’d wondered, as she pushed him backwards until his legs bumped against her bed, if she would surprise him and become demure.

But no, she had been contrary and insistent and just so _herself_ and it was so _good_. Would anyone noticed if he screamed into his pillow?

 _Fuck_. They probably--no, definitely--needed to talk about this.

***

Rita panics when she wakes up.

She sits up, pulling the sheet up to cover herself. Raven is asleep still, though, curled up on his side, facing away.

_Shit._

Rita's unsure what to do, so she stares at Raven until her heart stops racing. It could have been a minute or an hour. He’s definitely still asleep though. So _this_ is where the impulse lead. What is she supposed to say when he wakes up? Talking isn't her strong suit and even if it was, she has no idea how to explain the twisted jumble of shit in her mind.

“I’m sorry,” she says it to Raven, to herself, to the silence of the room, before she slides out of bed and leaves.

***

He finds Rita quickly enough; she's at a table laid out with a brunch spread, eating with Estelle, Judith, and Karol.

Estelle spots him first and waves, “Raven! Come eat with us.” She holds a cinnamon roll on a plate above her head.

The cinnamon roll _does_ look good.

Rita looks at him for just a second when he finds an empty seat. It's not quite directly across from her, so he steals a glance without being too obvious. She notices though, if the glare is any indication. Is she blushing, just a little?

The cinnamon roll distracts him for a few bites, and he listens to Judith and Estelle talk about honeymoon plans.

“Rita, you actually danced last night!”

Karol’s comment is innocent. Rita's cup clanks in her saucer, and Raven is going to hell for finding it funny.

“With the old man, no less,” Judith, ever the pot-stirer, adds, “who knew?”

“It was better than being asked by a dozen idiot nobles!” He admires how quickly Rita regains her composure. Her continual, expected irritation makes an effective shield.

“Much better,” Raven agrees.

***

It’s nearly a week before they see each other again. She spends a few of those days with Estelle, and the rest on the Fiertia with Judith, running errands. Rita’s not really needed, but Judith seems pleased to have the company. Rita wants to be close to Raven and far away from him simultaneously. She tries to come to a conclusion during that week but vacillates wildly about what she will actually say when she sees him again. She’ll tell him they should forget it happened; that it was the moment, or the champagne, or the stupid, _kind_ way he looked at her. That it was just impulse.

Or, Rita could just kiss him again and see where it goes.

_***_

Raven's the first person she sees when she enters the Brave Vesperia headquarters. He's huddled over a table with Karol looking at some documents.

“We’re home!” Judith calls out, waving her fingers in greeting when Raven and Karol look up.

Karol waves back, and Raven stands up from his seat, smiling at the both of them.

“Judy! Rita! Well, if it isn't two beautiful ladies. You’re a sight for sore eyes after lookin’ at Karol for three days.”

Judy laughs, immune to Raven’s flirting, “Don't insult Karol, he's sprouting up just fine!” She walks over and ruffles Karol’s hair.

Karol blushes this time and makes a noise of indignation. Raven chuckles and winks at Karol, who turns even redder. It's not enough, though, to distract Raven from walking over to Rita and taking her hand. His fingers are warm and familiar, and Rita is overwhelmed by an assault of stupid, unnecessary feelings.

It was _one_ stupid night. _Ugh_.

“Rita, darlin’, I’ve been thinkin’ about our dance all week.”

Well, Karol's beet-red face has nothing on hers now. She should just hook herself up to the guild headquarters’ power grid. Problem solved.

“Old man, I ought to punch you.”

His smile shifts then, a genuine one that reaches his eyes--she’s a fool, but Rita can almost imagine it's just for her. Raven looks at her like he did when she’d pushed him onto her bed.

She is so screwed.

Well, when they _do_ talk, Rita won't be telling him to forget it. 

***

She knocks on Raven's door, hopefully late enough that Judith and Karol won't notice. From the scene downstairs, Judith probably has a complete picture of the entire situation, but there's no need to give her more ammo. Raven answers, of course he does, and lets her whirl through the door like a weather event. She's all nervous energy and frustration (some of it sexual, if she was honest with herself).

There’s a long pause before she speaks, “I shouldn't have run off.”

It’s not an apology, but it _is_ an admission of fault. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and she knows she looks defensive.

“Darlin’, sometimes it happens to all of us.”

Raven's expression is calm; he just leans against his dresser and waits her out. There’s a book nearby, tossed pages-down onto a chair. He’d been reading when she knocked. Rita is frustrated enough that she has a fleeting thought of wanting to punch herself. Raven should be mad, yet he doesn't look it at all.

“Does it?” is the only response she can think of.

“Eventually, yeah.”

Rita suddenly feels young and silly, “Well, I came back.” She makes a deliberate effort to uncross her arms and not look like she’s been dragged forcibly into the room.

Raven chuckles, pushes himself from the dresser and steps towards her. “I guess the old man’s still got it, then.”

He’s teasing her, and she hates how quickly she rises to the occasion. She wants to slug him and jump him all at once. It's like one fuels the other and just-- _argh_.

“Ugh, you’re such a pervert--” Rita cuts herself off and waves her hands in the air. Maybe the room needs some fireballs. Fireballs help every situation.

“Darlin’, I was just bein’ a gentleman, askin’ you to dance. You’re the one who dragged me back to your room.” He's still smiling, but Rita can't deny the contradictions in her behavior.

And she still can't explain it. Rita launches at him. It's a few short steps across the room but she puts enough force behind it that Raven grips her arms to stop her and still bumps back against the dresser. Like last time, Raven let's her kiss him. It's hungry and messy and she goes up on her tiptoes to reach him better. He anchors an arm around her waist and pulls them together. Rita’s sheer loss of all her faculties amazes her. It's just like last him; she feels like her molecules are vibrating where they touch, and she just wants _more._ Desire isn't foreign to her, but _this_ certainly is. Raven tugs a hand through her hair and kisses her again.

It could be a minute, an hour, an _age_ before she pulls back, gasping. It's wonderful and terrible.

“What _is_ this?” Rita moves her hands to Raven’s shoulder and shakes him. He looks more composed than she does and it pisses her off.

But, _oh,_ the tone of his voice when he finally does speak, “Whatever you want it to be.”

***

Maybe he's mellowing out in his old age, but for the next month, Raven let's Rita do whatever she wants. Sometimes she barrels through his door, and sometimes she knocks and looks anxious. Sometimes she appears three nights in a row and then vanishes for days. Raven tries to ascribe a pattern to her behavior, some sort of forecast, but quickly gives up. She's working through some shit and he's an outlet; that part is clear.

They never do talk about it though.

During the day, their interactions don't change much. Raven flirts with her, maybe more shamelessly than usual, and she gets flustered and angry like she hadn't pushed him to a bed twelve hours before. There’s a selfish part of him that likes the attention, relishes in the contact even as he tells himself that it's not _really_ about him. He has _something_ that Rita wants, even if he's not sure what it is.

What does _he_ want, though? His own wants are not something he's given much thought to until the last few years.

As time passes, Raven starts to figure it out, and when he does it's almost worse for its impossibility. He watches Rita, one day, from the door of her workshop. She’s hunkered down over a project and he realizes he admires her focus, her dedication. For nearly five years, she’s had her hand in a million projects to make their lives easier in a world with no blastia.

Raven brings her lunch sometimes and eats it with her in her lab--sandwiches, usually. “Gotta keep your strength up,” he tells her the first time, and she turns a bit pink. She notoriously skips meals and all he can think is _ah, youth._

It's not over lunch, but dinner with Rita, Judith, Karol, and a recently-arrived Yuri that the realization punches him harder than Rita ever could.

He loves her.

Fuck.

He swears his blastia is malfunctioning and drops his fork onto his plate. Rita's eyes widen and she half-stands from her chair, “You okay, old man?” The other three at the table stop eating and look at him.

The genuine concern in her eyes is so attractive to him that if he thought she wouldn't slug him, he’d climb over the table and kiss her.

 ***

“Rita, how long have you and Raven been sleeping together?”

They're on the deck of the Fiertia, on a supply run from Dahngrest to Zaphias, when Judith corners her. Rita looks up from the notebook she’s scribbling in. Judith is giving her that _look_ , but there’s a smile on her face, and she’s holding a bottle and two glasses.

Rita considers denying it, her first line of defense, but Judith will see through the bullshit. She’s pretty sure Krityans can smell lies.

“How’d you know?” she asks instead, a question for a question.

Judith kneels to sit beside her. “Raven isn't subtle,” she answers, pouring two fingers of amber liquid in each glass.

Well, shit; it's better to just be honest, then.

“Estelle and Yuri’s wedding.” Rita's going to need more liquor to get through the conversation. She takes a drink and it burns all the way down.

Judith smirks into her glass, “Ah, the dance. I guessed right.”

“It just happened and then…  kept happening.” Such a weak explanation, but Rita’s been turning it over in her mind for weeks, and it's the best she's got. Everything else is too jumbled to explain.

“Old man must be good, then.”

Rita chokes on her drink, and Judith claps her on the back with a strong hand.

“Do you remember when I told you about Estelle?” The comment seems like a non-sequitur, but she's confident Judith will remember.

Judith looks up at Ba’ul ferrying them through the night leaning her head on the wood behind her. “I distinctly remember you, drunk on wine, crying into my bosom.”

If possible, the memory is more embarrassing than their actual, present conversation.

“I was sixteen.”

Judith refills their glasses and holds hers up for a toast. Rita follows suit and clanks her glass against Judith’s. “To first love and the bitch it can be.”

A genuine laugh bubbles out of Rita, and she shifts leaning her head on Judith's shoulder.

“I’m happy for Yuri and Estelle.” It's the most genuine statement she can make. “But seeing them get married felt so...final. It's not that I thought I ever had a chance; I gave up on that years ago. I don't even...it's in the past, but it still hurt,” Rita presses her forehead into her hand. “I was lonely.”

Judith glances down at her, “Are you still lonely?”

“No! Yes. I don't know? Raven, he's…” _Kind. Attentive. Patient._ “He’s put up with _me_ for two months. And, as you can guess, I haven't been the most...”

“... Consistent?” Judith finishes.

There. That's the best way to put it.

Rita’s glass is full again, and she lifts her head from Judith’s shoulder, “What should I do?”

Judith has always been the easiest to talk to; it's why she knew about Rita's feelings for Estelle in the first place. She gives good advice, too.

“Talk to him. Soon.”

***

It's late (early?) when she wakes, the pre-dawn light makes the features of Raven's bedroom fuzzy. Rita’s done this enough times that she’s confident she can make it to the door. Her clothes lay scattered on the floor at the foot of the bed; she can feel the weight of her jacket that hasn't fallen completely to the floor. Raven slung an arm over her torso in his sleep, and she wriggles free of it until she can sit up at the edge of the bed. Judith’s advice echoes in her head, but it needs to be daylight for the conversation they need to have; Rita just can't do it yet. He's a sound sleeper and Rita intends to slip from the room unnoticed.

It almost works.

Rita can't say for certain if Raven’s ever awake when she leaves, but if he is, he's never made it known. This time, a hand reaches out to circle her wrist, halting her as she reaches for her clothes. The contact makes her freeze; the hand Raven didn't grab is wrapped around her underwear, and Rita drops them back to the floor, turning her head.

Raven was obviously awake.

He’s sat up a bit in the bed, resting on one elbow. Their eyes meet for a second, and Rita breaks the contact immediately, looking everywhere but directly at Raven--the ceiling, out the window, the haphazard pile of clothes on the floor. Raven tightens the circle of his fingers around Rita's wrist, and she feels the first tinges of panic. The hand on her wrist adds an unknown variable to the parameters of their interactions--one she is unsure how to account for.

“Stay.”

 _Tell me why_ and _Yes_ are on the tip of Rita’s tongue and she has the impulse to blurt both. She doesn't though, and instead tries to read the expression on Raven’s face, to fill in the blanks surrounding the single word spoken between them. Two months, and after every encounter she slipped away like a ghost, gone before sunlight. Raven had never said a thing about it.

Raven doesn't speak again, however; he just looks at her, hovering on this precipice, and awaits her decision. The hand on her wrist hasn't stirred, and he's made no move to pull her closer. Patient, as always.

This is the first thing he has ever asked of her.

Raven is generous with his time and attention, almost to a ridiculous level, but he has never asked for anything in return. Rita smiles, tossing aside concern over how her heart will handle this change in the morning. Raven doesn't draw her closer until she turns completely, pulling her feet back into the bed, and when he pulls her down until they meet, she goes willingly.

***

Rita’s alone when she wakes up and her first thought is _Ah, I deserve that_ for all the times she ran off on Raven in the middle of the night. She’s naked, which doesn't surprise her, and she sits up, letting the sheet fall into her lap. She rests a hand on the pillow where Raven’s head had been. It's cool to the touch. How long has he been gone?

_Stay._

Rita flops back onto the bed with more force than necessary and stares at the ceiling. She doesn't need a mirror to know that she’s blushing. They hadn't even _done_ anything after that. Raven just gathered her into his arms and held her there. It took a long, long time for Rita to fall asleep, listening to the whirring of the blastia in his chest.

Flopped back on the bed, one arm over her eyes, is how Raven finds her when he returns. Rita flounders for second, getting tangled in the sheets as she tries to sit up. Remembering that she's naked, she tugs the comforter back up, pinning it under her armpits.

Raven watches her struggle, leaning against the door, and bursts out laughing.

“Pervert!” Rita’s voice is too loud for the room, and Raven laughs even harder. Her fingers tighten on the blanket.

“Darlin’, I’ve seen everything under there, so there’s not much point to that.”

 _But not in the daytime_ she wants to respond; Rita glares instead.

There's a bag under Raven’s arm and a mug of coffee in each hand. He places them on the nightstand and meets Rita's glare.

 _Oh_ , he went to get coffee and breakfast.

She feels guilty for thinking he’d run off and even more ashamed for having done it herself. Raven fishes a croissant out of the bag and hands it to her.

It's almond--her favorite.

How did he know?

He passes a coffee to her, as well, and sits on the bed beside her. They eat and drink in silence for a few moments. Raven _brought her a croissant in bed_ and it's delicious. Rita feels a burning sensation behind her eyes and turns her head to the window; she's going to cry. Raven is silent next to her, and she wonders if he’s noticed. An unnamed feeling is squeezing her heart and she is just _so_ screwed.

“Hey, old man,” Rita tries to keep her voice from hitching, “have you ever been in love?”

“Once, in a past life.” From anyone else, the answer would seem cryptic. Rita can’t respond, doesn't know how, so eventually Raven continues, “You?”

“Once,” she echoes his response, pauses, then decides to air it all out, “with Estelle.” The burning behind her eyes worsens, and she scrunches them shut.

Raven makes a quiet humming noise, like he's figured out the last piece of a puzzle. “Ah, I knew something was up with you at the wedding when you agreed to dance.” There’s a long pause and Raven radiates nerves, “Do you...still?”

Rita turns her head, suddenly less concerned about him seeing her tears. She's a mess, but he has earned her honesty. “No; I decided never to tell her, and I don't regret it. But seeing them made it feel so…real? Final?” There's another long pause as she collects her thoughts. “I--I’m sorry...I was lonely, and you were kind, and I just...you must feel like I used you.”

Raven smiles, “I figured you had some stuff ya needed to work through. After the first time, though, I can't say it was completely altruistic.” There's a suggestive undercurrent and Rita blushes.

He makes it sound so simple. _How?_ “You’re a patient idiot,” Rita says instead.

“Comes with old age, darlin’.”

Rita scrubs at her eyes, overwhelmed, “Why’d you ask me to stay last night?”

Raven waggles his eyebrows at her, “To woo you in the morning with coffee and croissants.”

“Be serious!” She reaches out to bat at his arm and Raven catches her hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Well, I’ve been trying to figure out how to be serious, for about a month now.”

Rita glances down at their joined hands in her lap and then over to Raven. Her eyes are watery, her cheeks are red, and she's covered in croissant crumbs. And yet, Raven is just _smiling_ at her--the one that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle.

Oh. _Oh._

Bringing her sandwiches, putting a blanket over her shoulders when she fell asleep working, opening his door to her whims at any time of night. Judith had told her outright that Raven wasn't subtle; she had just missed every sign. The shift in her expression must be dramatic because Raven starts laughing and brings his forehead down to rest on her bare shoulder.

Rita tenses, “Why are you _laughing_ , you idiot?!” There's her too-loud voice again. “It’s--it’s not funny!”

“Sorry, Rita darlin’, but it’s a bit funny.” It looks like it takes some effort, but when Raven lifts his head he’s just grinning instead of outright laughing.

“You’re serious.” Rita’s tone is half question, half accusation, and Raven’s answer is to lean over and kiss her.

There’s usually a reticence to Raven during their encounters--like he's holding back or walking a fine line. She initiates the contact; she decides the pacing. This kiss is different; Raven's usual delicacy is gone. It startles Rita for a second before she gasps into his mouth and fists a hand in his hair to keep herself steady. She forgets being naked under the comforter until she feels Raven’s palm on the small of her back, warm against her skin. He moves to kissing her neck, working his way down her shoulder. The hand that isn't pressed against her back tugs at the blanket, pulling it away from her body.

Then, suddenly, there more of her to touch, and Raven capitalizes on it.

***

She's gasping in his arms when he pushes her back down onto the pillows, the comforter long-forgotten. Raven traces a hand over her breast as Rita works on getting him out of the shirt he’d thrown on when he left. There's the usual blush high on her cheeks, but her hands are steady.

Waking up to Rita curled against him was a bit of a shock. Asking her to stay seemed like half a dream, her actually doing it an impossibility.

Raven sits back to divest himself of his clothes and takes the opportunity to look at Rita. There's a certain vulnerability to her in the daylight, and she shifts, nervous, when she notices him staring.

“What are you looking at, old man?”

The response is simple: “You.”

Rita doesn't cover herself this time, obstinate as ever, but she does glare. “You said it yourself, you’ve seen it all already.”

“Mostly clandestinely, under the cover of darkness.”

“Shut up.”

 _Damn, she is easy to tease._ The enjoyment of appreciating her in the daylight is something he won't deny, though. Raven returns to her and is more surprised than he ought to be when Rita reverses their positions and straddles him. She pins his arms to the bed with her hands and stares him down. Her grip isn't tight, and and he could get free, but he certainly as hell doesn't want to. She moves against him and Raven let's out an undignified noise. If it wasn't Rita, he’d be embarrassed that an almost forty-year-old man would even make a sound like that.

“Rita, darlin',” he finally chokes out, “have pity on an old man over here.” She lets go of his arms; he starts looking for a way to retaliate.

It's easy enough to find.

***

Eventually, Rita announces that she has to actually be productive and gets up to leave. He watches her get dressed, and when she says, “Pervert!” there’s a fondness to it.

She’s about out the door when she calls back, “Hey, old man?”

“Hmm?”

Rita’s fingers tighten on the door handle, “This is fucking backwards, but you wanna...get some food later?” She's just a bit pink. “Like, out?”

What doesn't and doesn't embarrass her never fails to surprise him, but he's not going to tell her that.

“Of course, darlin’.”


End file.
